Hitting the Target
by Pereybere
Summary: Adrenaline made him hit the target. She got under his skin.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Hitting the Target

**Rating: **Probably M, eventually. These might run for a couple of chapters.

**Disclaimer: **Neither of these characters are mine. I just make them horny.

**Summary: **Adrenaline made him hit the target. She got under his skin.

**A/N: **This is my take on that sexually charged moment in the Pilot episode. I hope everyone likes.

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"…your hypothesis is that squints don't solve murders and cops do. Prove it," she said, their bodies so painfully close that she wondered if she'd summon enough resolve to finish her cocky retort. "Be a cop." He had unfathomable eyes – a gaze that seemed to slip beneath her clothes and caress her skin. As he swept a molten look over her body in that brief moment, she felt as though she was shedding all that garments she wore. He had that effect on her – from the first moment they'd met.

She slipped by him, barely grazing the rich wool jacket he wore. If she didn't get out into the air, she was susceptible to suffocation thanks to the sexual perfume that he radiated – which caught in her lungs and rendered her incapable of taking a breath. Damn him. She was not the type of woman who was easily effected by a little chemistry.

Pausing by the door, inches away from fresh air, she turned, watching as his long fingers curled around his weapon, pulling it from his holster as he spun, fuelled by frustration and adrenaline, and squeezed the trigger, discharging two exploding bullets. She was more than impressed at the accuracy with which the bullets hit the target, piercing two round holes through the head. A sniper though and though, she realised. A sexy sniper.

When he replaced his weapon at his hip and turned, he froze, noticing that she stood in the doorway, her eyes rounded. She disliked how easy it was for Agent Booth to surprise her. She thought she was prepared for any witty sarcasm he might throw at her, and perhaps she was. She was usually armed with a retort. But it was his overwhelming sexual confidence and predatory gaze that stiffened her spine and made her blood course.

"I thought you were gone," he said slowly, his voice a low growl. She cleared her throat.

"I am. I was." Shaking her head at her own foolish inability to form a coherent thought, she tried again. "I am leaving now." Booth sported a lopsided grin, infuriatingly aware of the effect he had on her. She couldn't help but suspect that it was all part of his elaborate plan to lure her in. She hadn't wanted to work with him – not before. Not even now. He was smarmy with his self-assured arrogance, but he'd reeled her in. She was intrigued by how he'd somehow stirred a long buried emotion within her. A sexual desire. A passion. An urge. Perhaps she didn't like him. In fact, she knew in no uncertain terms that she didn't like him. But then she didn't need to have a genuine affection for him to want to ravage his body, did she?

"You're still standing here," he said, the smirk widening just a little. She shook off the cobwebs of yearning desire and clicked her tongue – the sound reverberated through the firing range, louder than she'd have liked. He knew of her own frustration with herself, now.

"Okay, I really am going. I'll be at the lab if you need me." She stepped outside and the noise from the highway _should_ have made his response inaudible, but she heard it. At first she thought it was just her imagination, distorting his words for her own optimism.

"Define 'need'?" It was really only a whisper and the sound of his lowly plea shouldn't have reached her ears. When she turned, the stunned expression on her face created a similar look of disbelief on his. A moment of crackling uncertainty passed between them, where he cursed himself silently and she willed herself to turn around and walk away.

"No," she said at last, shaking her head. Her response meant so many things, combined into one. No, she would not define anything. No, they could not step beyond the boundaries of professionalism. No, she did not want to give into her wayward desire. Booth, his eyes a crazed maelstrom of demented want and sexual urging, squared his shoulders and laughed.

"Of course not," he said, dismissing the electrified barrier that encased them together in the darkened room.

"Do you… want to?" she asked testily, as though she didn't really want to know the answer at all.

He chuckled. "God no."

"Me neither," she hurried to say, shaking her head, her face framed by her cinnamon hair – her cheeks flushed rosy pink with fevered embarrassment. For the briefest of moments, she thought the sexual yearning was mutual, that perhaps Booth, who could have probably any woman he chose, would think of her as more than just a game. He enjoyed watching his effect on her – but it was idiotic to believe that it went beyond play acting. But then, what had she seen in his eyes, if it weren't desire? "Okay then. So I'll be at the lab if you… yeah… that's where I'll be." He dipped his head, once.

"Okay."

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The Jeffersonian Institute

Washington, D.C.

"I think Booth is attracted to me," Brennan disclosed when Angela eased her office door shut. The forensic artist laughed, shaking her head.

"Well duh," she said, "he couldn't make it any more obvious if he walked around with a neon sign saying 'fuck me now, Brennan'." Temperance wrinkled her nose at her best friend's usual lack of professionalism, Swearing, it seemed, was nothing something Angela was afraid to do.

"I wouldn't have phrased it quite like that," Brennan said, crossing her legs.

"No," Angela conceded, "you wouldn't. Which is exactly why I did. Sometimes it has to be said." Brennan mulled this over for a moment, wondering if it had to be said to Booth, too? Of course she knew it would be suicide to encourage him or to let him know he had any kind of effect on her.

The door swung open and Angela jumped out of the way, spinning with wide eyes. "Whoa there, slow down," Booth threw her a preliminary glance, hands on his hips. It was enough to prompt her departure but not without a wink and a muffled chuckle.

"You can't just barge into my office you know," Brennan said testily. Booth shook off his jacket, tossing it to her sofa, ignoring her jibe. "Is everything alright?" His eyes flashed, his mouth a tight grimace.

"No, Bones, everything is _not_ 'alright'." Brennan leaned back in her chair, wondering if perhaps something in her analysis of the bones had been inaccurate. Only something pertaining to his investigation could fill him with such unruly agitation. "You said you'd be here if I needed you, Bones and I _need_ you." Dipping her head, she stood, pulling her lab coat from the back of her chair.

"Alright," she said, slipping her arms into the blue Medico-Legal garment. "What have you got?" Booth snagged her arm, his fingers coiled around her wrist with a vice-like grip. Heat seared through her skin and she froze, each muscle in her body seizing.

"No," he said. "The other need." Realisation dawned on her and she visibly trembled, closely followed by indignation.

"Earlier you said…" he shook his dark head, his jaw a tight and firm line.

"Forget what I said, Bones," his thumb massaged her wrist, the silken touch contradicting the grip with which he still held her.

"You said 'God no'. For a seemingly religious man, a statement such as that can only be interpreted as one of hesitation. I wouldn't want to be responsible for such chaos." Her chin tilted in cool defiance. Defiance of him and defiance of her own churning emotions – his touch sent a sizzling tremor through her spine.

"Bones…" he sighed and she realised their conversation was not taking the route he so desired. "You looked like you'd sooner jump into an acid bath than into bed with me. Self preservation and all that…" She winced.

"You try to intimidate me but you don't. You know that, right?" He blinked, somewhat baffled by the change in topic. "I don't intimidate easily." He smirked, releasing her wrist and shrugging his broad sweeping shoulders. His very presence seemed to fill her office.

"I didn't think you could be intimidated at all, Bones," he said. "I just like how you react to me." He smirked a little, the tell-tale confident seeping back into his features. "Intellectually, physically and sexually." The last two made her breath hitch – for then it was painfully obvious that Booth had been aware of her desire and now that he'd voiced it, she felt exposed.

"You're standing very close," she said – for he was. Their chests, only inches apart, radiated a mutual and stifling heat. Booth smirked, edging closer, their hips bumping with an awkward lack of grace. She shifted, her palms damp and her pupils dilated.

"Yes I am," he agreed, tilting his head, inching closer with stern deliberation. "Probably shouldn't…" she nodded her head, leaning into him as if drawn by invisible force.

"Hmm… probably…" she agreed as their lips met, hesitant and tentative. They stood frozen for what felt like forever and then, as if someone pushed 'play' they began to move, touching one and other, petting through their clothes, fumbling and grinding with the frenzied tempestuousness of people starved.

Maybe it was because the sexual tension had been there since their first meeting – and their relationship had always been somewhat turbulent. Below the surface, badly veiled, the desire rippled like soft waves and as their knowledge of one and other grew, so did those waves until eventually, they were, inevitably, swept away by them.

"Do you…?" she tried her question again, and this time, the response was quite the same, yet so achingly different.

"God yes…"

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Let me know what you think. Office sex, anyone?


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Hitting the Target

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Rating: **M.

**A/N: **Well, here is your second part. I hope it is suffice because little ole Andrea is back to work tomorrow. Joy. My enthusiasm probably radiates, it's so powerful. This is sarcasm, by the way.

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He touched her through her lab coat, her breast yielding into his palm, malleable and soft. While he marvelled at the suppleness of her skin, a moan pitched in her throat, followed by a whispered plea. Her head fell back, exposing the smooth ivory column of her throat, and her clavicle dipped, like an oasis. His lips fell upon the concave patch of skin, his tongue tasting her. Her heartbeat pounded there, touching his tongue, pulsating against his lips.

Her fingers inched along his arm and his muscles rippled in response to her touch – teased by her. His skin felt just like she imagined it would, masculine and leathery, dusted with a sprinkling of dark, coarse hair. His skin was bronzed, weathered. Her fingertips explored, touching parts of him that had piqued her curiosity since she met him.

His mouth touched under her chin and her lips parted, dispelling a hot, shaky breath. Anyone could walk in – her colleagues, her bosses – but what bothered her the most was that she didn't care. She was easily have set the windows rattling, but to touch his body and know what he felt like inside her. The bottom line was, she was insanely curious as to what kind of lover he'd be.

He dropped his hands to her hips, and she fell backward, crashing into the door with enough force to squash the blinds. The metal rattled and she thanked God they were already closed. Her hand fumbled, turning the lock, quite sure that their antics were not going unnoticed.

"Booth…" she tried to speak as he hooked his hands under her thighs, nestling himself between her open legs.

"Shush, Bones," he demanded, pulling her lab coat down her arms, dropping it to the floor. "Not now…" He sounded as though he was lost, deranged. Outside her office door, work continued as usual, while she, sucked into a demented whirlpool of rampant sex, felt as though nothing would ever be 'as usual' again.

His hands pushed her shirt upward, exposing the silk and lace cups of her black bra; her indulgence. It had been awhile since she'd undressed for anyone – but even logical, rational woman liked to feel sexy sometimes. Booth certainly seemed to appreciate it, for his hands moved over her breasts as though he were worshipping the mounds of flesh.

Her nipples tightened, so hard she felt marginal aching within and when his thumb flicked the nubbin, it was almost as though he were releasing her desires in one, flooding torrent. Between her thighs, she was molten liquid, throbbing with irregular pulsations. She caught the scent of her own arousal, and wondered if Booth could smell it too.

When the tip of him touched her entrance, moist and ready, she arched her hips and he slid into her, ensconced by her, surrounded by the furnace of her womb. He was quite sure he'd never had a woman respond to him with such fervour, before. He'd had lovers – enough to know that she, Temperance Brennan, was the sexual equivalent of the yin to his yang. They seemed to fit together with such liquid passion that it almost drove him out of his mind.

She held his shoulders, rocking against him, burying him with each stroke, as far as he could possibly go. She murmured his name, rotating her hips in such a way as to literally grid her little body against his. Her fingers moved, slipping up into his hair, clutching the dark, sweat dampened stands into tight fists – so tight that they imitated other parts of her luscious body.

His own fingers explored, roaming over her thigh, between their bodies to test the heat of her; scalded by the intensity that pooled. Her skin shimmered, evidence of their desperate search for release. He remembered with vivid clarity the first time they'd met, how her cool detachment had struck an immediate interest in him, and how he'd gone to bed, wondering with illicit pleasure what Temperance would be like, wriggling beneath him, whispering his name and begging him to make her come. Reality, it seemed, was vastly different to imagination.

And he had a good imagination.

He dipped his head, pulling a hard nipple into his mouth, circling the areole with his tongue, the puckered flesh smoothing beneath his attentions and he loved how easy it was for him to manipulate her skin. It was almost as though she were his – her body belonged solely to him and he could touch her wherever he wanted. He could, should he so desire, make her scream with liberated pleasure.

One hand released his hair, dragging clawed fingers over the smooth, still clothed expanse of his shirt. He winced, closing his teeth around her nipple, the bud throbbing in response. Brennan sucked a breath into her lungs, her heart hammering against her chest and it felt as though there simply wasn't enough air in the office – she was overwhelmed with hot, raging longing and with every thrust, he brought her higher and higher, closer and closer to the release she sought with unprecedented urgency.

He leaned back, dropping his probing gaze to her nipple, glistening wet from his tongue, and he smiled. "You're fucking extraordinary," he growled, his body tensing, coiling, preparing itself for monumental release. He realised he wasn't just referring to that moment – but to every moment in general – every meeting between them, had always left him feeling charged. Damn her, she was his adrenaline. His sexuality.

"Booth…" she sighed, her walls pulling tight, hugging him, milking him as she climaxed, her body shuddering around him. He wrapped his arms around her, stroking the unruly damp hair from her forehead, where perspiration gathered as a result of their frenzied love-making.

"Come for me, Temperance," he encouraged, his tender caress doubling the intensity with which she tumbled. His whispered words urged her to release her inhibitions, to enjoy the feeling of fulfilment. Her wild freedom brought forth his own release and his spine went rigid, her name continuing without a breath for a full ten seconds. Her womb contracted again in response to his pleasure and Brennan was astounded at the phenomenon of the multiple orgasm.

Her legs felt weak when he released her, as though they were fluid. She fell against the door, rattling the blinds again. She leapt away, mortified at the noise they had no doubt made, and shocked at how she'd allowed herself to be so crazed. What if Dr Goodman had happened by? Her good record would have been shattered. Yet as she dressed, smoothing down her clothes and pressing her palms to her cheeks, Brennan realised that the aftermath of her sex with Booth was so damn satisfying that she'd have risked it all again.

"Wow," she whispered, lifting his eyes to his.

"Yeah," he agreed. She wasn't sure what she ought to say, and in hindsight, what she said was probably the most foolish and most dismissive thing she probably could have uttered.

"We have to work."

And the mood was shattered by her words, like a well-aimed bullet through a stationary target.

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Ack… I probably will end up adding a chapter to this eventually. I'd like to work them round the awkwardness of post-first-time-sex.

Thanks for reading, now push the button.


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